


It Can't Be a Mistake if I Just Call It Change

by ThereAreNoLines



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Clonecest, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:19:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereAreNoLines/pseuds/ThereAreNoLines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monotony looked good on Alison. Maybe it wasn’t even monotony at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Can't Be a Mistake if I Just Call It Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hayjolras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayjolras/gifts).



Beth never went through the “I want to be a mom” stage all the other girls went through. Her parents tried to placate her with baby dolls that came with bottles, but they scared her. (The plastic eyes, the ones that blinked, especially.) Eventually, they all ended up in the dark blue storage container in the attic, next to the Christmas tree. Every time an older lady from church, reeking of perfume, with lipstick on her teeth, asked her in a sickly sweet tone what she wanted to be when she grew up, Beth would flash her gap-toothed smile, though she wanted to kick every one of them in shins, and answer just as sweetly, ‘I wanna be a policeman.’ They would all chuckle and tell her how precious she was, and pat her on the head, or tug her braid, and that just made her all the more determined. (She’d sent a picture of herself graduating from the police academy to her parents, so they could put it in the church bulletin. They probably hadn’t, and all of those old ladies were dead anyway.)

Truth be told, Beth had never understood why anyone would want that sort of life. Day in, day out, bag lunches, stepping on legos, sleeping next to the same person for fifty years, and redoing the master bathroom just to break up the monotony. Life had already seemed a bit pointless to her from the start – the idea of marriage and motherhood just made it worse. Sure, as a cop, and then as a detective, she’d had her routines, her quirks, her things she absolutely-needed-to-do-before-bed. But sometimes she worked the night shift, sometimes she got a whole week off after a hard case, sometimes she even got shot. (There was a scar on her shoulder to prove it.) Every day, she woke up and walked into work not knowing what would happen, or if she lived or died, and for the ten years she’d been working there, she was strangely okay with that.

Of course, now, all of that had changed.

Beth sat in her car at the edge of the soccer field for awhile, picking up Alison’s pink shirt with ease – she’d never liked pink much either, come to think of it. The woman towered over the children, but was dwarfed by the rest of the adults. Her ponytail was high, bangs still lying perfectly flat against her forehead, and Beth couldn’t help but wonder how a woman who was completely losing it could manage to look so put together. (She sure as hell couldn’t manage both.)

After a few moments, her hand found the handle and she crept out of her car, tugging the collar of her jacket up around her face, against the stares of meddling suburbanites and the cold air, making her way over to the shed. Her stride was purposeful – look like you belonged, and people would generally leave you alone, no matter how shady you were in real life. More and more, Beth had found herself thinking more and more like a criminal and less like a cop. Sometimes it was worth it, and sometimes she hated herself more than usual. (She wasn’t sure which category this time would fall into.)

Beth dug her nails into the thick skin of an orange, one of many that had been sitting on the counter, peeling it in pieces and letting them flake and fall to the floor. So this was why Ali always smelled like oranges, her hands in particular, the scent echoing so easily in her memory. Her hands were soft against her mouth, (probably from all the dish soap,) the scent of citrus catching in her deep sighs. The corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile, and as she began to separate the orange into sections, she glanced away, over to the window just in time to witness Alison catching a soccer ball flying at her forehead. Effortlessly, she tossed it away towards the goalie, blowing the whistle hanging around her neck, calling out something Beth couldn’t hear from the window. (Though, as Alison set on the path to the shed, she gained a fairly quick understanding.)

Alison didn’t notice her, draping the whistle around a waiting hook, pulling a hand to her forehead, her eyes fluttering shut the way she did when she needed to recall something, to concentrate. A giggle, something she didn’t let herself do often, bubbled out of her, and she cupped her hand over her mouth, the rest of the orange peel falling to the floor as Alison wheeled around.

“Uh…hey, Ali?” Beth offered, dropping her hand from her mouth and instead popping one of the orange wedge in her mouth, offering a lopsided smile once she’d swallowed, holding it out for her. “Want some?”

“For the love of God, Beth.” Alison sagged against the wall slightly, her hand on her chest. “What are you doing here? We could get caught.”

“Well…” Beth tossed the orange with one wedge missing from hand to hand idly, finally focusing on Alison. She couldn’t fathom how someone who looked identical to her could also look so different at the same time. Moreover, she couldn’t tell if those things, those little intricacies about Alison, about her face, her body, her expression and posture, and every little brushstroke that made her up were really there, or if her brain was creating them to find something, anything, that differentiated them. (Or maybe they were just things only she could see, only someone who knew Alison that well could see.) “That’s the fun of it, isn’t it?”

“There’s nothing fun about this!” Alison’s voice slipped up the octave, and that was how Beth knew she was upset. In case there had been any confusion, Alison’s hand slipped around Beth’s wrist tight, pulling her away from the window, the orange precariously managing to stay in her grip.

“Nothing?” Beth raised an eyebrow. Alison’s expression shifted as she realized their proximity – close – and again as Beth slipped her free hand into her pocket, pulling to close that little distance. “Nothing at all, Ali? Guess I’d better go…”

“…well, don’t be so hasty, Beth.” Beth. It sounded a little less like ‘death’ when it’s coming from Ali’s mouth. “Just give me a minute, okay?” Beth nodded, watching as she grabbed the container of orange slices, carrying them out to the waiting children, who crowded around her with little prompting. Beth couldn’t ever get tired of watching her, even in the most mundane of tasks, and watching her with children, specifically, was an experience. She wasn’t the greatest mother on earth, even Alison herself would admit that, although only after a little too much wine and a lot of crying. But that didn’t seem to matter, not to her kids, not to others, who looked up at her with toothless smiles and sticky fingertips like she was the goddamned Virgin Mary, or something. (Not that kids knew what that meant or anything.) Monotony looked good on Alison. Maybe it wasn’t even monotony at all.

Alison pointed at her phone before jogging back to the shed, the lock clicking loudly under her palm. “We don’t have a lot of time.” She said, like it was a business transaction, and for all she knew, maybe it was. She reached over, pulling the string on the blinds. (Christ, blinds and windows for a storage shed. These suburban types didn’t do anything halfway.) “What did you want, Beth?”

Beth closed her eyes as she pressed her forehead to Alison’s, her hands folding around her hips, Alison looked like she’d be soft and pliable and something to bury your face in when you were scared, but she was more than just her pink shirt and coach’s whistle. She was tough, above and beneath her skin, hard to the touch. She was strong, even if Alison couldn’t’ see it, couldn’t admit it, put out a different, desperate front to the rest of the world. Even if it took too much to make her realize it. She brought her hands up to her face, felt Alison’s chest constrict, her breath jerk, but all at once relaxing, turning slightly against her right hand. “Did you always want to be a mom, Ali?” Beth found herself asking, her voice lapsing into a whisper as she pulled Alison closer. “Did you always want this?”

“Always.” There was a note of confusion in Alison’s eyes, but she didn’t hesitate to answer. Alison never questioned her, and Beth wasn’t sure if she hated or loved that about her. “I don’t remember a time where I didn’t want this…I mean, being a mom. A wife.” A silent laugh shook her chest. “For about a week, I wore only tie-dye and told my mother I wanted to live on a hippie commune. I was just a phase, but she was so scandalized.” Her eyes popped back up to meet Beth’s again. “I can still hear her now. ‘Did you hear that, Gary? Your daughter said she wants to be one of those dirty hippies.’ Of course, he couldn’t be bothered to look up from the newspaper…” She trailed off, bringing one hand up, gently swiping her thumb over Beth’s top lip. “Why, Beth?”

Alison tasted like oranges too, Beth realized, when she kissed her response, hard, with her face still in her hands. Beth was metal, unyielding and sharp and cold, but falling in molten drops, taking the shape of whatever she fell on, and thank God she kept falling on Alison.

And even though her lungs burned, Beth could barely breathe once the kiss shattered, her mouth hovering millimeters from Alison’s. “Go be a mom, Ali.” She finally whispered, lifting her eyes, sucking the taste of her off her lips. “For me. Go be the mom you were meant to be.”

Alison wanted to ask. It was hanging heavily in her eyes, on her tongue, Beth could see it. Alison might have prided herself on putting up a façade, but Beth could see right through it. She was just thankful that Alison had the grace to not mention that she could see through hers too. “…I’ll be by later, okay?” A compromise, between her grace, and her worry.

“Mothering me too, huh?” Beth smiled a bit, finally dropping her hands from Alison’s face, one of them catching Alison’s hand for an instant.

“Oh, shut up.” Their hands broke and Alison cupped the back of Beth’s neck, bringing her down into one more kiss. “Well, you need someone to look after you, don’t you?”

“Glad it’s you, Ali.” Beth said, smiling as Alison turned away, pulling up the collar of her coat and moving to the door. The knob was cold under her hand, and so was the air on her face when she stepped out of the shed. But somehow, she found herself warm as she made her way back to her car. The kids played and Alison watched, and it was all as it always was, day after day after day, and Beth couldn’t help but think that maybe some monotony wouldn’t be the end of the world.


End file.
